


No Mystery

by violeteyes



Category: Hardy Boys - Franklin W. Dixon
Genre: Cincinnati Reds, Gen, Karlheinz Stockhausen, Plymouth Road Runner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 17:27:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violeteyes/pseuds/violeteyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An afternoon in the life of the Hardys. And of Iola's limited patience with Chet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Mystery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tinx_r](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinx_r/gifts).



"Joe, you've got to help me!" Iola Morton's voice was strained, near to breaking with stress. Joe Hardy, in the parlor of the Hardy family's home, gripped the receiver and wondered what the trouble could be, and if he'd need to dial Bayport's police department or the hospital next. Kidnappers? Murderers? Thugs? Cultists? "What's the matter, Iola?" he asked, nervously running a hand through his straw-blonde hair. Seconds ticked away as his query raced through the telephone wires to the Morton house, the younger Hardy brother waiting for his steady's reply. Joe breathed a sigh of relief as Iola explained: "Ugh! It's Chet. He's messing with that synthesizer of his again and insists on playing it as loud as he can, and it's terrible!" Their chum Chet had been taken with the concept of experimental music of late, and had started to record his own, having saved up for his own modular synthesizer. "I need to get out of the house. Can you come pick me up? Get Frank to bring Callie, too, if she's not busy."

Joe poked his head into the kitchen, where his mother, Laura, and his Aunt Gertrude were working on a batch of bread dough. The windows were open and a warm breeze drifted in, the women nearly dancing as they went about their work, to the tune of the transistor radio atop the refrigerator. "Mom? That was Iola on the phone, we're going to go out for a bit. Have you seen Frank? She wants to see if he and Callie want to come out, too."

She grinned sunnily. "Sure, Joe. He's in the basement with your father. Will you be coming home for dinner?"

Joe shrugged. "I expect so, I think Iola just wants to get away from her brother for a while." He opened the door to the basement stairs, descending with a chuckle as his mother added "Well, that's certainly going to happen living with Chester Morton."

In the basement workshop, Joe pulled up a stool alongside his elder brother and father. Frank and Joe's father, the famous private investigator Fenton Hardy, sat under a bank of fluorescent lights with a jeweler's loupe in his eye. In his hands, he was turning over an oddly-shaped piece of metal and cleaning it with a long swab. His brother grinned as he took his seat. "Hey, Joe," he said, "Who was that on the phone?"

"Iola. Chet's playing his synthesizer again and she wants to get out. Want to pick up Callie and see what's up downtown?" 

Frank grinned. "Sounds like a plan to me."

The eldest Hardy interjected, "Does Chet still have that signal filter in his recording studio? I remember him talking about ordering it from upstate for quite some time." Putting the machine part he was cleaning aside, he reached to the back of the workbench and retrieved a reel of audio tape. "This is a tape from that drugs-for-arms case I was working last year. The case broke before this tape could be of any use. I was going to send this to my old friend Ken Barrett in the city and see if he could clean it up, but never quite got around to it. Think you could drop it off for me? If anything, it'll keep him occupied with something other than his Stockhausen records."

The boys chuckled as Frank took the tape from his father, hopping down from their stools and heading upstairs.

Minutes later, Frank was behind the wheel of the Hardys' gleaming yellow convertible and pulling onto Oak Street. It was a beautiful late summer afternoon, with wispy cotton threads of cloud drifting out to sea on a friendly breeze, and the sun rolling slowly towards the western hills. Joe reclined lazily in the passenger seat, chatting with his brother about his plans for the upcoming school year (more Spanish classes) and the ongoing baseball season (lost cause, Cincinnati was too good). 

The idyllic scene was shattered with the roar of angry engines somewhere behind the boys, Quickly glancing at each other and narrowing their eyes, they were prepared for trouble. In the rear-view mirror, Frank could see a silver and black muscle car charging up to meet them. He gripped the wheel with both hands, ready for anything.

However, both Hardys' looks of apprehension quickly turned to grins of recognition as the muscle car pulled up alongside. For all the car's grim looks, the warm greetings from its occupants, Tony Prito and Phil Cohen, were enough to allay any suspicions. Phil leaned out the passenger window to shake Frank's hand as Tony turned down the booming stereo. "Well!" Frank said, "If I didn't know any better, I'd imagine an entire gang was behind us, not just one car."

Tony grinned, pushing one hand through his curly black hair. "I just got done adjusting the timing, couldn't really wait until we hit the coast road to open it up."

With a few further words and a squeal of tires, Tony and Phil were on their way, and the Hardys were rounding the last corner to the Mortons' house, where Iola was already sitting on the front stoop, her glum expression wholly at odds with her bright blue sundress. She blew upwards, a strand of hair flying from her face as the boys pulled up to the curb. Hopping out of the car, Frank grinned and turned back to Joe. "I'll run the tape in to Chet, give you two lovebirds a moment alone." Luckily, Frank's athletic conditioning was still in fine form, easily able to duck the playful jab his younger sibling sent his way. Nevertheless, as Joe crossed the front lawn, Iola leapt into his arms, the pair twirling once in a close embrace.

Frank was as good as his word, however, and slipped inside without further comment. His bemusement quickly turned to confusion as sounds as diverse as birdsong, the clanking of machinery, and otherworldly cooing spilled out from the bedroom down the hall. Chet was glad to take the tape, however, and quickly spooled it into his own tape recorder, re-routing a handful of cables running between several impressive-looking, knob-festooned gadgets. He assured the elder Hardy that he'd have the recording cleaned up and ready for their father in a day or two.

Returning to the brightly-lit front yard from Chet's dim "studio" was like leaving a cave, and Frank squinted a bit, waving to Joe and Iola, where they leaned against the fender of the convertible. Reunited, they clambered into the vehicle to make the short drive to the Shaw house. Iola frowned as she sat down, however, having sat on an unnoticed piece of paper wedged into the back seat. "Hm!" she exclaimed, digging the page out. It was folded in quarters, and as she unfolded it, natural curiosity leading her to read it, she gasped. The message was simple and direct: HARDYS BEWARE - STAY OUT OF OUR BUSINESS. OR ELSE.

Frank took his hand off the ignition, quickly joining with his brother in a cursory investigation of the mysterious note. Iola's concern was reasonable; the boys had been involved in some dangerous detective work previously. However, after a moment with the note, Joe grinned. "Frank! Look at this! It was typed on a typewriter with a broken Y. It's the same as on the notes involved with that kidnapping case from last spring." Frank gave the note another look and reached the same conclusion his brother had. "Of course! And since the Darby gang all went to Leavenworth, that can only mean that we were meant to receive this message in April or so."

Joe mused for a moment. "Huh. And here I thought we had another mystery on our hands. All it really means is we need to do a better job cleaning out the car." He chuckled.

Iola frowned, obviously still not wholly over her scare. "You Hardys! You think you'll ever be happy with a day without sleuthing?"

The brothers regarded each other for a moment, then laughed. "Maybe. Today seems pretty good so far," Frank said.

**Author's Note:**

> So! Written and delivered. Hope you enjoyed it! I know it's not your top pick, and I lost about a month where I could have been polishing the story due to personal circumstance, so you have my apologies, but I hope that I've made your Yule a little brighter this year.


End file.
